


Reasonable Cause

by narsus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-07
Updated: 2010-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-12 12:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narsus/pseuds/narsus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anthea isn't Mycroft's secretary, Sherlock isn't oblivious of social norms and John is rather tentative in his advances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reasonable Cause

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss & Steven Moffat and obviously in the genesis of it all to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

"Your name's not really Anthea, is it?"

John's voice plays back clearly from a recording on Mycroft's phone and John at least has the good grace to look sheepish.

"I think I tried to ask her out." He admits in the face of Mycroft's disapproving frown.  
"I gather she was flattered." Mycroft responds coldly.  
"She was?"  
"Yes."

They're standing opposite each other in John, and Sherlock's, living room and Mycroft is at his most confrontational. John has his hands in his pockets, contrite and he did previously duck his head a little on instinct when Mycroft had held his phone aloft for affect while he played the recording.

"Did you... want something?" John finally ventures when it looks like Mycroft really is content to simply stand there and glare at him.  
For a moment it looks like Mycroft might actually lose his temper. "What I want is for you to leave... Anthea alone."  
"Look, I get that you're her boss but-"  
"Leave her alone. _Never_ speak to her again, even if I'm not present. I will not have her distracted."  
The last part catches John's attention. "Distracted?"  
"Distracted from protecting him." Sherlock answers from the doorway in a bored tone.

Sherlock leans against the doorframe, evidently having just returned from whatever has taken him outside that evening.

"Distracted from _protecting_ him?" John repeats incredulously.  
"Mustn't risk state assets, must we?" Sherlock sneers, pushing himself away from the doorframe. Half way through his movement Sherlock suddenly stops with a gasp of pain before almost tumbling face first into the room. Anthea, whatever her name may really be, stands calmly in the doorway as he stumbles forwards.

"What did you-"  
"The prime directive is the protection of the person of Mycroft Holmes." Anthea smiles genially as she says it, obviously quoting some manner of government documentation.  
Sherlock clutches his wrist where she's obviously touched him. "Prime directive?" He snaps.  
Mycroft's smile matches Anthea's in its banality. "As you said, dear brother, my physical, mental and emotional integrity is of prime importance to the state."  
"She could have-"  
"Have what? I'm sure your wrist isn't broken."  
"I can't feel my hand, Mycroft!"  
"How unfortunate. No, John, I don't think your own training would do you any good here."

John breathes out heavily. Reflex would have had him barrelling into the elder Holmes brother and pinning him down: instinct tells him that Anthea would have construed that as a lethal threat and have proceeded to eliminate said threat with extreme prejudice.

"Would you...?" Mycroft inclines his head in Anthea's direction.  
Her pleasant smile never falters as she advances on Sherlock.  
"Wait a minute..." John finds himself moving protectively in front of Sherlock though he does hold up his hands to show a lack of threatening intent.  
"She's going to fix Sherlock's- Really now, gentlemen." Mycroft's exasperation is obviously false.  
Sherlock backs up further behind John, gaze flicking between his brother's amused expression and Anthea's entirely unreadable one. "I need a guarantee."  
"Of what?"  
"That she isn't just going to break my hand."  
The sound that escapes Mycroft's lips in response could almost be described as a giggle.  
"John, go over there and threaten to do something unpleasant to my brother."  
"Wait- what? Then we'll both get killed."

This time Mycroft covers his mouth with a hand when the same sound erupts briefly. He coughs afterwards in an attempt to reassert some composure.

"If you would be so kind as to fix my brother's hand? In the meantime, John, do come over here and sit down."  
With a backwards glance at Sherlock first John goes to sit down.  
Mycroft perches himself on the armrest of John's chair.  
"Now what? I threat to push you over if she hurts him?"  
"Something like that."

Anthea steps into Sherlock's personal space but instead of simply reaching for his wrist she reaches up with one hand.

"What-" John beings, startled.  
"My brother is very observant. It wouldn't do to have him learning certain trade secrets." Mycroft explains.  
John doesn't look at Mycroft but he does place a hand rather deliberately on Mycroft's knee instead. It isn't a very good threat as far as threats go but it'll simply have to do.

Anthea covers Sherlock's eyes with her left hand and proceeds to do something to his wrist that makes him hiss with pain with her right. The pain obviously doesn't last because Sherlock's face relaxes, though he doesn't pull away or attempt any other movement, evidently waiting for her to move away first. She steps back and waits while Sherlock flexes his fingers and rotates his wrist in both directions.

"Please remove your hand, Major Watson." Anthea doesn't turn away from Sherlock as she says it.  
"What if I don't?" John's tone suggests that his patience for being held hostage in his own home is wearing thin.  
Mycroft doesn't give her a chance to reply, quickly placing a hand over John's and affecting a teasing tone. "No, John, please don't start." He makes it sound flirtatious.

Anthea visibly relaxes though John has to admit that before he saw that he wouldn't have realised that she was preparing to take action either. She turns to face Mycroft and John now, Sherlock entirely forgotten.

"Shall I wait in the car, sir?"  
"Yes, please."  
"Shall I remove your brother as well?"  
"No! No, Sherlock is fine where he is." The smile that remains fixed on Mycroft's face as Anthea departs is strained almost to breaking point.

"Do you- does she- Are you mad? What if she-"  
"Your concern is touching, John, but I assure you that I have the matter in hand."  
"You've just lied to her to get her out of the room!"  
"Yes, sometimes that's a necessity."  
"Heuristically programmed Algorithmic computer." Sherlock shrugs as he says it.  
"What?"  
"Arthur C. Clarke." Sherlock nonchalantly heads for his room with a wave of his once more functional hand.

John's about to say something else, ask what classic science fiction authors have to do with anything when he realises that he still has a hand on Mycroft's knee, and that Mycroft's hand is still covering his. Mycroft's grip tightens slightly.

"Two thousand and one: A Space Odyssey." Mycroft adds by way of explanation. "Hal."

Of course John gets the reference now. Obeying orders and going mad in the process, murdering everyone else because of those orders too. He's actually heard about military programs like that before, not with machines but humans. It was the sort of thing he'd laughed about with his comrades because it was a myth, the stuff of bad science fiction nearly always featuring Cold War super soldiers. Except, he admits, when they talked about it they only did it quietly, when they laughed about it they did it off base and when the security departments turned up they were very careful not to be caught laughing at all.

John looks up at Mycroft's pale face and feels oddly sympathetic so he squeezes Mycroft's fingers gently.  
"I'm not worried." Mycroft says softly. "They'd never give her an order to... remove me."  
"She probably wouldn't be able to."  
"No? Perhaps you're right."  
"That's not what you're worried about, is it?"  
"No."

They sit quietly together for a few more minutes before Mycroft disengages their hands, a little self-consciously.

"Do you... ever get any free time?" John asks cautiously.  
Mycroft looks like he's going to respond in the negative but then changes his mind abruptly. "Some."  
"Maybe we could, you know, go for a drink some time?"  
"I'd like that."

Mycroft's phone buzzes and he checks it quickly. Then he frowns at the message and shows it to John. _"Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"_ It reads.

"We haven't solved any crimes together yet." John points out.  
An arched eyebrow is as much of a response as Mycroft is prepared to give to that notion.

John's phone goes this time and sure enough the text comes from Sherlock again: _"Go borrow milk from my brother. We've run out."_

"I could have milk delivered to you."  
"I don't think that's the point."

A second text to John adds the further instructions: _"Don't take him to the Carlton Club. He despises it."_

"I'm not a member?" John says out loud.  
"You'd better tell him that I don't want to be taken to the Reform Club either."

John sends back a text to that effect which nets an immediate response: _"Don't tell him! It has to look spontaneous."_

John's about to attempt a response to that when Mycroft calmly takes his phone from his hand, turns it off and sets it on the table.  
John smiles apologetically. "There's a Chinese just on the end of Baker Street that says open pretty late..."  
Mycroft shakes his head. "I think it's getting a little too late."  
"Yeah."  
"I can still take you to go buy that bottle of milk that my brother seems to want."  
"The shops round here might be shut by now." John says insincerely.  
"Perhaps we might even have to drive across the city."

It's only when their get downstairs that John remembers Anthea.  
"She likes to sit at the front in the evenings."  
"Good. She might not like what I'm going to do next."

In the car once John is certain that both driver and Anthea are safely kept behind the dividing screen he puts a hand on Mycroft's knee again.

**Author's Note:**

> Heuristically programmed ALgorithmic computer is the nomenclature that abbreviates to Hal in Arthur C. Clark's _2001: A Space Odyssey_. Hal's attempt to obey his conflicting orders being the prompt for his attempted murder of the crew of the Discovery One.  
>  The Carlton Club is the famous Westminster Tory gentlemen's club while the Reform Club is a former political now social Pall Mall gentlemen's club. Both clubs now admit female members.


End file.
